Milestones
by DA4TheFunOfIt
Summary: It's the worst day in the world for little America. It's the day that he hates more than any other day. It's the one day in which he actually tries to avoid his big brother, England. Because if England catches him on this certain day, he's doomed!
1. Chapter 1

"YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

The formally peaceful afternoon in the American colonies was shattered by the sudden exclamation. The door of a certain house burst open; scaring the few birds that had gathered on the front lawn and causing them to scatter. They watched from a safe distance as a certain little boy, followed closely by a certain older male, rushed out of the house.

"Stop this foolishness, and get back in the house!" England ordered as he chased after his fleeing brother.

"No!" America stubbornly shot back at him.

The boy was heading for the yard gate and sweet freedom, but England blocked his way at the last second. England made a grab at him. Young America narrowly managed to avoid capture as he ducked, turned, and raced away in the other direction. England cursed under his breath and chased after America again.

The brothers ran about in the yard for a time. America ran back and forth in circles and zig-zags—anything to try to shake off his pursuer. Unfortunately for the young boy, this was not so easy anymore. The two had been living together long enough for England to have grown used to all of America's tricks. England's stamina had also increased after living with the tiny ball of endless energy. The chase dragged on, but to America's great displeasure, England was able to stay close behind him the whole time.

"Do we have to go through this every time you need a bath?" England tried to reason with America.

"I DON'T need one!"

Of course, reason did not exist when the boy got like this.

"That can be debated!"

England dove for America and finally managed to grab him by the end of his long shirt. The boy tripped and fell to the ground. Immediately, America tried to pull himself away from his brother's grasp. England reached for the boy's hands when he started tugging on his shirt, but America was too quick. The boy let go of his shirt, twisted himself around, and made an attempt to crawl away. He managed to drag England with him a few feet.

Although _catching_ the boy had become easier for England, the art of _keeping_ him caught was becoming increasingly difficult. America was not so little anymore. England had started taking care of America when he was practically a toddler, but now the boy was about the size of a four or five-year-old. His long, dress-like shirts (which were normal for young boys to wear) that had once gone past his feet, now barley fell lower than his knees. Getting control of a normal boy his age would be hard enough, but America's ridiculous strength raised the level of difficulty high—even for a strong empire like England.

Somehow, England was able to grab a hold of one of the boy's kicking legs. With great difficulty, England managed to bring the struggling boy to a halt. America clawed at the ground as England began to slowly pull him backwards.

"Stop…struggling..," England grunted out as he brought America closer and closer. "This is for your own g—"

Without warning, the boy had twisted around and thrown a huge dirt clod right in England's face. England lost his grip on America and the boy was off again. England coughed the earth out of his mouth and tried to rub it out of his eyes. He heard America's retreating footsteps stop just long enough for the boy to add insult to injury.

"Ha! Why don't _you_ go take a bath?"

England growled as he stood up and sprinted for the impudent, little whelp with all his might. America had a good head start this time. He was able to safely make it to the apple tree in the back yard. England called out to him as he ran and threatened America within an inch of his life if so much as touched the tree. America simply turned so that he was in full view of England, put a finger on the tree, and stuck his tongue out at England in reply. Following his blatant show of rebellion, he hastily leaped into the branches and shimmied up the tree like a monkey. By the time England reached the tree, America was far out of his reach.

"I've had quite enough of this!" England called up to his younger brother. "Come down from there this instant!"

"NEVER!" exclaimed a determined voice from above. "You'll have to KILL me first!"

England's eye twitched.

"That's taking things to the extreme, isn't it?" he said through gritted teeth. "Though at the moment, I have to admit that it _does_ sound tempting…."

The two didn't usually behave like this. Normally, they got along famously. England adored his little brother, and America admired England more than any other adult he knew. America could be a bit of a handful at times, but what boy wasn't? England still saw him as a perfect, little angel. Yet, something strange always happened to his "little angel" on bath day. Another side of America would come out. He would become unreasonable, resistant, and violent. Whenever he got like that, he was almost impossible to control.

England had planned to catch him by surprise this time. Earlier that morning, the older brother had given the boy a brand new toy: a pop-gun. You couldn't have found a happier boy in the whole of the American colonies! America had wasted no time. He had immediately started playing with his new, favorite toy. Oh, the gun was so much fun to shoot off! It made the loudest, most exciting, popping noise that the boy had ever heard. America also loved watching the cork pop out. He had quickly made a game of stacking up his other toys and trying to knock them over with his "expert sharp-shooting skills."

While America was occupied with his gift, England had had the chance to slip away and prepare the bath. England could hear the "POP…POP…POP" of America's toy while he busied himself heating the water and filling the tub. England had felt proud of himself as he worked. His plan was going quite smoothly. Once he was done with the preparations, he had been planning to call the unsuspecting boy into the room and seize him before he could make a run for it.

Unfortunately, England had been too busy congratulating himself on his brilliant strategy to notice that the popping sounds had stopped. America had lost interest in his toy. England's plan still might have worked if only he had not forgotten to close the washroom door. America had peeked his little head into the room, just as England was pouring the last of the heated water into the tub. The curious boy had come looking for England once he had stopped playing long enough to see that his big brother was missing. Realization had hit the boy as soon as he saw what England had been doing. England had frozen in place when he had noticed the door open out of the corner of his eye.

England had glanced down at America.

America had looked up at England.

And the chase had begun.

"I won't say it again!" England called up once more. "For the last time, get out of that tree and return yourself to the house!"

Nothing.

In his anger, England's next threat seemed to fly out of him automatically.

"Don't make me come up there and retrieve you, myself!"

Movement was heard in the tree.

"You wouldn't dare!" America challenged.

An evil smile spread on England's face as he looked up into the tree.

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

England reached up and grabbed a branch. He was so mad, that the thought of climbing trees no longer seemed beneath him. He made his way through the tree with little trouble. America scrambled deeper in the tree when he saw England coming. England chuckled to himself when he looked up to see the retreating boy.

"Go on then," he muttered to himself in triumph. The boy could climb as high as he wanted. He had nowhere to go. "You're only delaying the inevitable! It's only a matter a time before—"

PLUNK!

"OW!"

Something struck England on the head. England rubbed the top of his head and looked up again.

"What the devil—AH?"

England had looked just in time to dodge another falling object. It was an apple. England had to hold up an arm up to protect himself as more apple bombs began to rain down on him.

"Take that!" America called as he threw the apples at England. "Go away!"

Of all the irritating things! Now the kid was pelting him with apples! What a waste of good fruit. America only succeeded in slowing England down. The older brother stubbornly fought his way through the onslaught of fruit. He couldn't really see where he was going because he had to keep his head down to avoid getting hit in the face.

_Perhaps I should just burn down the tree with him in it!_

England found himself thinking.

"I swear, you are going to get infinitely more than a bath when I get my hands on you!" England yelled.

"No way!" America proclaimed. "You can't catch me!"

"We'll see about—AH!"

England was getting cut off a lot today. This time he was interrupted by a sudden drop downwards. He had been reaching up to grab a branch to his side when he had lost his balance. He didn't fall far, because his chest slammed into a lower branch, forcing all the air out of his him. He wrapped his arms around the branch and awkwardly and hung on for a moment. He groaned in pain as he struggled to get his breath back. His ribs ached where the branch had hit them. He looked down and realized that he was dangling dangerously from one of the highest points of the tree. There were only a few flimsy branches under him. Not much to break his fall if he fell from that spot. He looked up and around him, but there weren't any strong branches that he could reach from his position. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on relaxing and breathing in. How had he managed to get himself into such a situation?

At least the apples had stopped. England decided that once he could breathe normally again, he might be able to pull himself up on the branch he was laying on. If he stood up on the branch, he knew he would be able to reach others. It was a good thing the branch had caught him. All of a sudden, England heard a crack. The branch he rested on descended slightly.

_No._

England opened his eyes to see that his branch was breaking under his weight. Just what he needed. His eyes scanned his surroundings once more only to confirm what he had seen the first time. There was no visible way out.

_Of course._

The branch dropped again. England tried in vain to reach for a branch above him. He didn't even come close. He heard another crack as the branch lowered him further.

_CONFOUND IT ALL!_

He held on tightly and tried to swing a leg up on the branch. If the branch could only hold him till he was able to stand, he would have a chance. But every time he moved the branch dipped lower. Just as he finally managed to get one leg up, the branch broke off completely.

_I'm going to murder that boy._

England still did not have enough breath to yell. He just shut his eyes again as he plummeted to the hard ground. This was going to hurt.

Surprisingly, he only fell for less than a second. Something caught the back of his shirt, and he felt himself swing to the side. After softly swinging back and forth in the air a few times, England cautiously opened an eye and looked down. He was hanging in mid air. Above him, he could hear panting. England jerked his head up. America was right above and looking down on him with a worried expression. The boy was holding onto England shirt with one hand and hanging from a branch with the other. England stared up at him in shock for a moment. The boy must have swung out and caught England just in time. He had saved him. America's face relaxed a bit. He seemed relieved that England was alright.

The relief didn't last long. Before either could think of anything to say, England's shirt ripped.

"ENGLAND!" America shrieked.

* * *

It's Bath Day. :D Hope you liked part 1!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

England dropped away from the screaming boy. This time, there were a few stronger branches beneath England, but they still didn't quite stop him. He tumbled through them and landed on the ground with a loud THUD!

"ENGLAND!" America called again.

England's body didn't move.

America rushed out of the tree.

"England! England! England!" he called out the whole way down, but still he heard no response.

England was laying face-down. Once America reached his side, he pushed England over on his back.

"England?" he shouted at his unconscious brother. "Are you ok? England? Wake up!"

The panicking boy shoved England back and forth.

"England! Can you hear me?"

England's body was limp. The only movement came from America shaking it. The older nation's eyes were closed and his mouth hung slightly open.

"England? England, _Please_!"

The small boy was filling up with more fear and guilt every second. He did this. He had thrown the apples that had made his brother fall to his doom. He hadn't meant to hurt England! What was he going to do if England didn't wake up? What was going to happen to him? Tears came into the child's eyes.

"England!" America's voice was starting to crack from his repressed sobs. "Arthur?" In desperation, he even tried calling England by his human name, but nothing worked. _"ARHTUR!"_ England remained lifeless.

America stood up and backed away. He turned around and looked back and forth all around him. He didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe someone who could help? But no one else was around. Panic overwhelmed him. The tears began to escape as he collapsed on his hands and knees. He threw his head back and whaled in agony.

"I KILLED ENGLAND!" he tearfully confessed to the sky.

Suddenly, America's depression was interrupted. He felt two large hands grab his arms from behind. In an instant, the child was lifted up and held high in the air. A familiar voice spoke behind him.

"Not quite."

America's eyes went wide. He turned his head back as far as it would go, trying to get a glimpse of the man holding him.

"A-Arthur?"

"Although, I must commend your effort," England grunted slightly as he continued. "I can't say that I came out of that completely unscathed, but I suppose it was worth it. Thanks to that fall, and a bit of quick thinking on my part, I finally have you. It's comforting to know that those acting lessons with Shakespeare weren't for nothing."

As England spoke, America went through a quick roller coaster of emotions. At first, he was stunned. England had been dead just seconds ago, and now he seemed perfectly fine. Then he was happy. England was alive! Then his happiness was replaced almost instantly with confusion. What was England talking about? Then, at last, it hit him. England had been faking. America's wild ride of emotions ended with him feeling very mad and embarrassed that England's trap had worked. America angrily tried to wriggle out of England's hold. England just held him tighter and chuckled.

"Aw, are you disappointed?" he mocked. "Cheer up. Perhaps you will have better success next time. Till then, you should try putting more effort into your appearance. And I know just where to start."

With that, England began to march back to the house with the squirming boy. America struggled with all his might, but he couldn't get away. England had him in the perfect hold to keep him from escaping. He held him in the air by his arms, just below the shoulders. Because of that, America couldn't do anything with his arms. He could kick his legs, but England held him at arms length so the kicks never made any contact.

"No fair! You tricked me!" America angrily accused.

"All is fair in war, my boy."

America squirmed and kicked the air furiously with still no results.

"Next time you get hurt, I'm just gonna laugh!" America threatened; aggravated that he could do nothing more than insult his captor as he was leisurely carried inside the house against his will.

"Oh?" England chuckled as if he found the childish threat amusing. "And what will you do if I really _am_ dead next time?"

"I'll throw a party!" America shot back without hesitation. "Now put me down!"

"I will momentarily," England calmly assured as they neared their destination.

* * *

Sorry this part was so short! At least you know England's ok, now! Next chapter will be much longer, promise!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The full bathtub was waiting for them when they entered the washing room. America was still struggling to get free as England held him above the water. When America noticed what was below him, he stopped kicking and pulled his legs up automatically. England had to smile when he saw America recoil, but he did not mock the boy any further. He needed to concentrate if he was going to get his unwilling brother properly cleaned. So, England carefully re-adjusted his grip on the boy until he was holding America solely by his clothes. He shook the shirt hard and America began to slip out of it. Poor America held on as tight as he could, but England was relentless. He shook harder and harder until the boy finally lost his grip and descended into the tub with a prominent SPLASH!

England calmly tossed America's dirt and food-stained shirt over his head after the messy boy had been discarded from it. America soon emerged from the disturbed water. He gasped for air dramatically as he wiped his wet bangs out of his eyes. England took a short moment to roll up his sleeves before he squatted down in front of the tub. This was where things were going to get really difficult.

"It's freezing!" America sputtered as he tried to climb out of the tub.

England grabbed the boy's leg and gave a tug. America easily slid back in. The older nation put a hand on the boy's back and tried to hold him in the tub with while his other hand reached for the soap and the scrub brush.

"Oh, shut it. It's not _that_ cold," England muttered as he held the thrashing boy in place with much difficulty. "It's your own fault, in any case," somehow, England was able to multitask well enough to keep America in the tub and soap up the brush at the same time. "The water would have been warmer if you had gotten in sooner," he reminded the complaining boy.  
Once Enlgand had worked up a good lather on the scrub brush he leaned over the edge of the tub and began to wash his reluctant sibling.

"Ow! Stop it!" America squealed at the brush's rough touch. "That hurts!"

England scrubbed on, unaffected by his brother's cries.

"Hold still, and it won't!" he snapped.

The water began to turn a light brown-ish color as the coating of American soil slid off the boy's body. Soap suds also filled the tub and swirrled around in the rough water. America squirmed relentlessly while England cleaned him. It was like trying to bathe a struggling dog. England couldn't understand why the boy was so against baths when he would willingly play for hours in cold puddles and mucky lakes. America on the other hand, had just as much trouble understanding why his big brother always forced him to take the uncomfortable, soapy baths when he was just going to get dirty again. What was the point?

As the bathing progressed, England began to lose his grip on the now more slippery child. Each time America managed to wriggle himself out of England's grasp he would try to climb out of the other side of the tub. Unfortunately for him, the soap that made it difficult for England to hold him also made it difficult for him to escape the tub before he was caught again. America would slip and fall in his haste to get away. England would grab him, pull him back, and carry on with the hard scrubbing. Throughout the whole ordeal, England also had to ignore America's constant complaints, threats, and protests. England was holding the boy by his ear, when America coughed out some suds.

"Yuck! Blah! I got soap in my mouth!" he complained.

"Serves you right," England couldn't resist muttering in reply.

At that remark, America decided the time had come for some serious retaliation! The boy twisted his head around just far enough to get a good shot at his enemy. He fiercely spit in the face of his older brother, who had been leaning over him and concentrating on washing his hair. England released the boy and dropped the brush in surprise.

"Serves _you_ right!" America declared as England wiped at his face in disgust.

England's face flushed with new and improved rage as he glared down at the little nuisance. Without even thinking about it, England roughly grabbed the insolent America by his hair and dunked him under the bath water. This sudden retaliation from England really took America by surprise. He coughed and shook from the shock of being forcibly submerged after England had brought him back up.

"Now, do you have something to say to me?" England demanded. He was expecting an apology.

SPLASH!

Instead, he got a face full of water. America had cupped his hands under the water and spitfully splashed his brother. Once again, the surprise attack caused England to lose his hold on the boy. America made a run for it while England was busy recovering from his drenching.

"No you don't!" England yelled as he leaned further over the tub so that he could reach the retreating child. He was able to grasp America by the wrist. America turned around and bit England's hand in defense. This new strategy was low, but it worked. England yelped and pulled his hand back. His hand flaunted a small, red bite mark.

"You wicked little heathen!" England exclaimed in anger as he dove for America. He grabbed his little brother and jerked him back over to his side of the tub. America fought recapture with everything he had. England had to lean even further over the tub to try to subdue his colony. Suddenly, America reached up and grabbed England's shirt. He yanked England by his shirt and the older country tumbled into the tub, as well.

England sat up in the luke-warm water to the sound of his brother's laughter. He glanced down at the boy in front of him who was pointing and laughing at the soaked Englishman. England growled with annoyance and splashed the irritating boy. The water got into America's wide-open mouth again. America's laughter turned to choking. England couldn't resist laughing back at the boy. Of course, America responded by splashing England back—with interest. England scowled at the boy and returned the splash with increased force. America quickly splashed back even harder. Then England splashed again. And then America…

I don't think I really need to explain what came next. Basically, the splashing back and forth turned into an all-out splashing battle. Each brother was vigorously splashing the other without stop. England had lost all self control. He didn't care if he was behaving like a child. It felt good to splash back. It was a better alternative to beating the boy half to death, anyway. This went on for a while until, in the mist of the splashing, America started screeching for England to stop.

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" the boy had stopped his own splashing and was covering his face as he yelled.

England splashed him a few more times for good measure before finally stopping.

"What is it?" he asked hotly.

"Ow!" America wailed. "It's in my eyes! You got the soap in my eyes! Ow! Ow! It really hurts!" America rubbed violently at his eyes. He sounded close to tears.

England threw his head back and groaned at the ceiling in aggravation.

"Just a moment! Stay there!" he commanded the crying child.

England quickly rose out of the tub. He took a small cloth from a shelf. The room had a pitcher of cool water, which England emptied into a washing pan. He dipped the cloth into the bowl and brought it back to his brother.

"Here you are. Don't rub them like that! Here, put this on them."

"It hurts! It hurts!" America kept saying.

"I know!" England burst out. "For heaven's sake, will you pipe down about that?"

America sobbed quietly as England guided his hands away from his stinging eyes. England placed the soothing cloth on them and took a moment to calm his temper before he spoke again.

"Stay calm," he said at last. "Hold the cloth to your eyes, and wait for the pain to subside."

America whimpered, but did as he was told. He reached up and held the cloth in place for England. England watched carefully as the boy slowly began to relax.

The brothers took the chance to catch their breath during the temporary cease-fire. The room was filled with the sounds of their panting. They were both spent.

England turned around and slumped against the tub. He was having one of those, "I'm getting too old for this," moments. After resting for a minute or two, England idly kicked off his heavy, wet shoes. He then reluctantly moved from his comfortable position to pull off his socks, as well. After removing them, he took a look around the battle-worn room, and tossed his socks away with a sigh of defeat. He leaned back against the tub again and shut his eyes. He was dripping all over the floor, but what would be the use of bothering about that, when the floor was already covered with a sea of water that had spilled out of the tub during his struggles with America?

England turned to look back at the boy in the tub. The water level had gone down considerably. America was shivering in what was left of his bath water. He still held the cold cloth firmly on his face. He was sniffling and making whining noises, but he was not really crying anymore. England thought that maybe, now that America was winding down, he might listen to reason.

"Why don't we both calm down and negotiate?" England suggested as he crossed his arms over the edge of the tub.

The trembling boy in the tub seemed to squint his face under the cloth in confusion.

"What does nego…negoshow…?"

"It means," England informed. "that we settle down and discuss this _peacefully_, like civilized gentlemen, and come to an agreement which will make the both of us happy."

"You mean one that just makes _you_ happy, right?" America guessed at England's true intentions.

"What makes you say that?" England asked crossly. "I am simply trying to—"

"I know what that means," America interrupted. "You mean that you are going to talk forever about how good baths are and then you're going to try to make me happy about taking one."

England didn't know what to say. He realized that, actually, America's suspicion _had_ been his general plan. He couldn't exactly deny it. America couldn't see England because the cloth was still on his eyes, but he took the silence to mean that his guess was right. The boy took one hand off of his face and crossed his arms as best he could while still holding the cloth on his eyes with the other hand. He wanted to look determined and unmoving.

"I'm not going to negoshate," he said firmly.

England clenched his jaw. He felt like slapping the boy, and he almost did. He stopped himself when he suddenly realized that doing that would probably start the struggling all over again. England certainly did not want to go back to the usual method of washing America. By now, he was too exhausted to return to that. But on the other hand, England was not willing to budge on his own rules. The boy needed a bath, and England was going to make sure that he got one. There just had to be an easier way to get America to comply.

England thought for a moment. He knew that threatening the child when he was acting this hard-headed would not work. Maybe he could try bribing him? But what could England offer as a bribe? Maybe he could offer to cook his favorite meal? Or play his favorite game? Or read him his favorite stories? No. England already did things like that for America all the time. That would not be enough. He needed something new; something that would be attractive to America, like a gift. But England had already given the boy his pop-gun that morning. He didn't have anything else he could…then again, maybe he did. England remembered that he did have _something_ he could present to America. It was actually something that England had been planning on giving to the boy for some time, now. For some reason, it had kept getting put off.

"I have a proposition," England started out. "What if I were to give you something? Would you let me finish bathing you if I were to give you a special present afterwards?"

The boy tilted his head.

"But you already gave me my present," he reminded England.

"I know. I am referring to something different, this time."

America was quiet. After a moment, he pulled the cloth down from his face slightly, so that his reddened and skeptical eyes could study England.

"What _kind_ of present?"

"You will see what it is if you cooperate and get clean," England hoped that being mysterious about the gift would make it more tempting to the naturally curious boy.

"Will I like it?" America asked after thinking it over.

"I believe so."

"Better than the pop-gun?"

"Perhaps."

America looked like he was seriously considering this offer. The boy was doubtful. He couldn't imagine _anything_ being better than his pop-gun, but what if this new mystery item really was? He weighed his options over and over again. He could fight England like before and get nothing, or he could sit still for the remainder of his torture and get a reward for it. But what if he didn't even like the surprise? But what if he did? After a few moments of carful thought, America grudgingly slid closer to his brother. He turned around and crossed his arms as if he was waiting for England to finish washing him.

"Ok. I'll be good," he grumbled. "But hurry up."

America was mad at himself for giving in, but England's offer was just too tempting to resist. That surprise had _better_ be worth a bath!

* * *

And the guessing for what England is going to give America starts...NOW! (If you've read this story already on my DA account, please don't spoil it!)

P.S. Thanks to everybody for all of the reviews! I hope you're still enjoying the story!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"All done!" England happily announced.

America stood dripping in the tub. England had just finished pouring a bucket of water over him. Any lingering suds or dirt had now been rinsed off. America was still in the same position he had used to brace himself for the short shower: standing with his eyes shut and holding his nose with his hand. England took a large towel and lifted his little brother out of the tub with it.

"Don't you feel better now that you're clean?" England asked America as he dried the boy off.

America grumbled something incoherent. He was still pouting about having to take the bath. To tell the truth, he would still be fighting England's efforts to bath him at this moment if England had not won his cooperation part-way through the bath. Remembering why he had surrendered his fight, the boy began to wiggle a bit in the soft cloth. England was busy rubbing America's wet hair when the boy suddenly poked his head out from under the towel.

"When do I get my present?" he wanted to make sure that England didn't forget about the promised reward for his obedience.

"Patience," England said with a small smile before recovering America's face and playfully ruffling his hair further with the towel.

America scowled under the cloth at England's cheer. The boy was starting to suspect that the bribe had just been another trick. He really hoped it wasn't. He had been so good for the last half of his bath, that he felt like he deserved _something_. True to his word, he had allowed England to scrub and clean every inch of him. Throughout the whole process, he had stayed as still and as quiet as it was humanly possible for a boy his age. The only exceptions were when England had gone over a few ticklish spots, but even then America had mustered up enough will-power to only allow his body to twitch a little. The worst had been when England had cleaned between his toes. America had thought that that part would never end. And just when America had thought it was over, England started cleaning under his toenails. America had almost broken when that happened. Who cares if you have dirt under your toenails?

But America had not complained. He had just bit his lip and continued to wait patiently for England to finish. After that, the boy's fingernails had received similar treatment. Of course, England had also paid special attention to the boy's ears; washing both behind them and inside them. America had grimaced silently as every speck of filth, hidden in every crack in his body, was scrubbed loose and then finally washed away when that last bucket of water was emptied on him. After all that meticulous cleaning, America felt like he should get a medal at the very least!

Suddenly, America felt himself being lifted up and carried. He couldn't see where he was being taken because England had tightly wrapped his entire body (including his face) in the towel. America immediately began trying to squirm his way out of the towel cocoon.

"Hey! Let me out!" he demanded from inside the towel.

"What's that?" he heard England tease. "I can't quite hear you. You know mumbling isn't polite."

America shifted his arms around until he was able to bring them up and pull the towel down from his eyes.

"I'm not mumbling! You covered me up with the towel!"

"Did I?" England asked in indifferent innocence. He was pretending to be blissfully unaware of what he had done.

"You did so!" America insisted as he squirmed harder. "Stop playing around! You know you did!"

"Alright, alright," England admitted wearily. "Stop fidgeting before I drop you by accident." The next thing America knew, he was being laid out on a bed. "Wait here, and I'll get the surprise," England told him.

America saw now that they were in England's room. The boy sat up and watched as England went around to the foot of the bed. The old nation took a key out of his pocket and bent down to unlock a large chest that rested at the end of his bed.

All of a sudden, America forgot that he was supposed to be angry about the bath. Bath? What bath? England was actually opening his chest! America had always wondered what was inside that thing. Although England always denied it, America still thought that the wooden container looked suspiciously like a pirate's treasure chest. It did not matter what his elder said. The boy's active imagination convinced him that the mysterious chest had to be filled with treasure. England would never let him look inside it, and in America's mind, that only confirmed his childish beliefs. But now America was not only going to get a chance to see what was really inside the secret chest, but he was also going to get a special surprise from it!

America hastily loosened the towel around him and stood up on the mattress. He could barely contain his excitement as he walked to the end of England's large bed. Unfortunately, the boy was in for a disappointment. His anticipation was crushed when he snuck a peek over the open lid of the chest. The only items inside the "treasure chest" were some large blankets, some extra sewing supplies, and a few small boxes. England was in the process of going through the boxes, so he did not notice America. Supposedly, England was looking for America's "special surprise," but as far as the spying boy could tell, each box that his brother opened only held small, uninteresting, old trinkets.

The unhappy boy flopped back down on the bed with a moan. Talk about anti-climactic. There had not been so much as _one_ golden coin in the misleading chest. There wasn't even anything remotely interesting in the chest! What a let-down. And England was looking for America's big surprise in _there_? America sighed and prepared himself for more disappointment.

"That's odd," America overheard England say to himself. "I was certain I left it in here…."

The waiting dragged on. The more time England spent searching, the more anxious America got. What if there was no present after all? What if it _had_ all been another trick, and England was just pretending to have lost the non-existent gift? America wiggled his toes outside of the towel with worry. England wouldn't do that to him, would he?

America looked around the room and tried not to think about his missing surprise. He really wanted to trust England. He reminded himself that his brother did have a tendency to misplace things. England would probably find what he was looking for any second now.

As America scanned the room, he noticed something on the bed. It was one of the boy's long shirts—a clean one. England had probably laid it out before filling up the tub, so he could be ready to dress America right after the bath. America pulled the towel tighter around him. He was chilly, and he was getting annoyed with having to keep a hold on the towel. He wished he was dressed so that he could walk around normally. The boy glanced back expectantly at the man who usually dressed him, but England was still rummaging through his old trunk. America sighed with displeasure and returned his gaze to his shirt. Why hadn't England dressed him before he started searching for the surprise?

All of a sudden America sat up straight. A revolutionary idea had just come to him. Why hadn't he ever thought of this before? He wanted to get dressed, but England was busy. So what? It was so obvious what he should do. America took off the towel and picked up the shirt.

Meanwhile, on England's end, the British man was getting discouraged. His thick eyebrows were lowering with concern as he pressed on in his search for his object of bribery. He was having no success, but he kept up his hunt. He was so sure that he had stashed what he was looking for in his storage chest. He couldn't understand why it was now so hard to locate.

"How is it that I always manage to lose the important items?" England asked himself.

England was very happy with how the bribe had worked out. After he had won America's cooperation with it, bathing the rest of boy had been as easy as taking a stroll through a park. The remainder of America's bath had gone more smoothly than any other bath that England had ever managed to force upon the boy. England was so excited about the pleasant outcome of his bargaining that he had almost jumped for joy when the bath was finished!

England _had_ to find the reward he had promised his brother. He knew bribing America might never work again if he couldn't find what he was looking for. Not to mention that England had made the gift for America, himself. He had been working on it for a while; taking great care to craft it with high quality. He was quite proud of his handy-work. England didn't want to lose all of the effort he had put into the surprise. He began to re-search through the contents of his chest one last time. The chest was where he had always put his project when he was not working on it. It just had to be in there somewhere!

"Ah ha!" England exclaimed at long last. "Here we are!" he proclaimed triumphantly as he took the box he had been seeking out from its hiding place deep in the chest. How the box had become mixed in with his folded blankets, England would never know. England rose with his special gift and walked back to the awaiting boy on his bed. "Now then, let's…" England paused when he saw America. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting dressed," America responded with child-like pride. He was sitting on the bed with his clean shirt over most of his upper body. He had succeeded in getting one arm through one sleeve but was having difficulties doing the same thing with the other—mostly because he had ended up putting both his head and his arm through the hole for his head by accident. He was now stuck in a very awkward position with his sleeveless arm up in the air and his head halfway through his shirt's neckline. To top it all off, the shirt was on backwards.

"Do you need any help?" Amazingly, England suppressed his laughter as he offered his much needed assistance.

"No," America grunted confidently. "I can do it."

England waited for a minute or two while America tugged and pulled at his shirt. It would have been a bit difficult for any grown person to take off a shirt in that position, but little America had not yet mastered the delicate art of dressing oneself, so this new adventure was a quite a challenge to his uncoordinated body. After much effort with no progress, America began to get a little frustrated. The boy tried harder, but he only wedged himself further into the hole. England watched America's struggles until he couldn't stand it anymore.

"You've got it all wrong. You need to—"

"No!" America waved England away when he came closer. "I can do it by myself!"

"But I—"

"No!" America insisted as he pushed England's hand away. "Let me do it!"

England held himself back for a few seconds before he gave up and tried once more to intervene.

"Let me at least—"

"No!"

"Why don't—"

"No-_ooooooooooh_," America whined stubbornly as he waved England's hands away again.

England sighed. He put the box down on the bed. Without a word, he took hold of America's shirt—much to the disapproval of his independent little brother.

"Hey, stop!" America gripped at the shirt as England tugged it upwards. "I wanna do it!"

"You are going to rip it if you keep that up," England warned. With one swift pull, the shirt was off.

"Give it back!" America stood up and jumped at England.

"No!" England took his stand. He held the boy back with one hand and held the shirt high in the air with his other hand.

"Why not?" America demanded as he pushed against England's blocking hand.

"Because you don't need it!" England angrily informed. He had thought the storm had passed. How had he ended up in _another_ fight with his brother today?

"Yes I do!" America persisted.

"No," England grunted against America's advancing. "You don't!" With that last statement, England gathered his strength and pushed America back. America tumbled backwards on the bed. While America was momentarily down, England tossed the shirt behind him and went for the box he had placed on the bed.

"Hey!" America cried out indignantly as he sat back up, but before he could say anything else, the box was tossed onto his lap.

"There!" England bursted.

America looked down at the box in his lap.

"What's this?"

"What do you think?" England was aggravated and insulted. Had the boy forgotten the surprise which England had toiled over _already_? "It's your gift. Open it," he commanded.

America looked at the box. Then he looked at his shirt on the other side of the room. Instead of opening the box, America took the towel that was still on the bed and wrapped it around himself.

"I'm cold," the boy complained. "I wanna get dressed first."

England was going to lose his temper if America did not do as he was told, and _soon_.

"You don't have to get dressed yet," England said firmly.

"How come?" America wanted to know.

"Just open the package," England spoke quickly. "You will understand."

America didn't see why it was so important for him to open his gift before he got dressed. He was cross with England for taking his shirt away before he could finish dressing himself for the first time, ever. Plus, he was still a bit worried that he would not like the gift. The box didn't look attractive, and if that was any indication of what its contents were like, America was in no hurry to open it. Still, he did as England told him. He lifted the top off of the box. Sure enough, America was not too happy with what he saw.

"A new shirt?" he whined. What kid enjoys getting clothes for a present? "I thought you said I would like it."

"It's more than just another shirt," England patiently assured.

America reluctantly held the piece of clothing up for a closer look. When it hung down unfolded, he could see that it was very different from the other shirts he had. The most obvious difference was the length. It was even shorter than the ones that he had been growing out of. America studied the shirt in confusion for a moment before something else caught his eye. The box was not empty. There were more items in it that had been hidden under the mini-shirt.  
America put the strange shirt to the side. He picked up some mysterious black cloth sitting in the package. He curiously unfolded it and gasped.

"P-p-pants! I have pants!"

England smirked in satisfaction at the boy's shocked expression. America looked up at England with wide eyes. England merely gestured back at the still not-emptied box. America hastily went through the rest of the container. He took out the many parts of his surprise one by one. With each new item, his excitement grew.

"And socks! And shoes! And a vest! And a tie!"

Plop.

America was temporarily blinded. Something large had dropped on his head. America swiftly took it off and held it in front of him.

"And a HAT!" America trembled with joy at the three-cornered hat that was so popular in his colonies. England seemed to have produced the hat out of nowhere and dropped it on the boy's head for fun. To America, the hat might as well have descended straight from heaven.

"I take it you like it, then?" England calmly asked (as if the answer was not obvious!) with a very pleased expression on his face.

"I…I don't believe it!" America exclaimed happily as he gathered his entire outfit together and hugged it close to him. Everything looked so nice! It was all just like an outfit that a real grown-up would wear—and it was all his size! America held his clothes tight as he looked back at England in wonder and disbelief.

"Can I really keep them?"

"If they fit," England said with a nod.

* * *

One more left to go!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It did not take long at all to get the impatient boy dressed up in his new clothes. England helped him and showed him how to do things like fix the buttons in place, tuck in his shirt, and tie his neckerchief around his neck. England then combed the boy's damp hair finished the look by adding the hat. After the boy was completely outfitted, his older brother asked him to turn around a few times. England admired how well his tailoring looked on the small boy. The hat and the shoes were the only parts of the ensemble that England had not made, but England had picked them out with care so that they would match the rest. While studying America as he turned, England was also quite pleased to see that the clothes fit perfectly. The man had to congratulate himself once again for another job well done. England was sure no one could match his sewing skills. Sure, maybe France could have made the outfit more stylish, glamorous, and poofy, but what could be practical about walking around like a peacock all the time?

"There you are! What do you think?"

England thought that America would praise the outfit further, but to his surprise, America didn't answer right away. England realized that the boy's excitement had gone down. America was making unsure movements and overlooking his new clothing with a critical eye. He seemed to be having second thoughts about all this.

"Um…" America finally started out. "Do I have to wear these _all_ the time?"

England was taken aback by this sudden change in attitude.

"Of course," England reinforced firmly. "You are too old to be dressing like an infant."

America shifted back and forth; pulling at parts of his clothes with a frown.

"But it feels funny," the boy confessed. "And it's hot and itchy."

England chuckled a bit. He saw what the problem was now. The clothes had looked good all alone, but wearing them for the first time must have felt very strange to the boy. England remembered the discomfort he, himself, had felt each time dramatic changes in fashion had taken place in history.

"You will get used to it," he promised his little brother.

America still looked uncomfortable. He grimaced as he tried to move normally in the restricting clothes. He couldn't stop tugging and scratching at himself. He stumbled a bit in his new shoes. The shoes seemed to be the hardest thing for the boy to become accustomed to. America actually felt like he had weights on his feet. His toes felt trapped. He kept trying in vain to wiggle his sweaty toes inside the tight leather.

"Oh, for goodness sake! Don't look so depressed," England tried to cheer America up. "You look splendid! Here, see for yourself," England pushed his little brother in front of a full mirror, hoping he would feel better once he saw how handsomely he looked.

America stared at himself in the looking glass. He looked himself up and down. Slowly, the boy began to stand up a little straighter. A smile appeared on his face and he beamed as if a revelation had suddenly come to him.

"See?" England said with a smile. "What did I tell you?"

America looked up at England full of pride and new excitement.

"I look just like you!" the boy shouted happily before turning back to his reflection.

England froze at America's exclamation. To America, what he had just said seemed like a natural thing to be happy about. England was his big brother. America automatically thought that almost everything about England was awesome. He admired England with all the admiration a little boy could have for an older sibling or a father. He craved to be just like his big brother.

However, what America had said had astounded England. No one ever wanted to be like him. Not even his own family. France had always openly mocked England's style. When England thought more about it, it also occurred to him that most native people usually rejected the influences of foreign sovereigns. Yet, America was actually excited about donning an outfit that resembled something that England would wear. The boy actually _wanted_ to look like England, and that had genuinely touched the old nation.

England marveled at the boy in front of him. America was grinning at himself in the mirror and making dramatic poses. He practiced taking off his hat and bowing a few times, like he had seen England do to greet people on occasion.

"Well…I guess this isn't _so_ bad," America decided. "I guess I can wear this stuff, but…it's going to be kinda hard to play like this." After some thought, America looked up at England and tried to make a compromise. "Can I take the tie off when I play outside?"

England considered the suggestion for a moment.

"I don't see why not," the older nation said. He could allow that. It did seem a sensible thing to do.

"What about the vest? Could I take that off, too?" America ventured further.

"I suppose that would be alright," England agreed. The conversation was starting to make England think. He began to realize that America was going to need a whole wardrobe of new clothes now. He would at least need a change of clothes set aside for play so that he would not ruin his new, nicer clothes.

"And the socks and shoes?" America added, hopefully.

"No," England drew the line at that. "You may not take those off."

"But—"

"Shoes protect one's feet," England lectured. "It's high time that you settled into the habit of wearing them." England was trying to be stern on this subject for the boy's own good, but when he saw America's downcast face, his resolve weakened. "However," England continued with a sigh of defeat. "I think there might come some instances in which I could make an exception and allow you to remove them. Just be sure you ask permission first. Alright?"

America's smile returned.

"Alright! It's a deal!" the boy enthusiastically agreed. He could live with that. Suddenly, America rushed at England and began tugging at his older brother's shirt. "Hey, hey, England? Can we go into town?" he asked.

"What? You mean right at this moment?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Whatever for?"

"I want to show my new clothes to all my friends!" America was bouncing up and down with eagerness as he spoke.

England glanced out the window. It was getting late in the afternoon and he and America had not even had lunch, yet. England was also not sure if he had the energy to make a journey into town after his earlier battle with America.

"It's getting rather late to go all the way into town," England tried to be rationale. "Couldn't you wait till tomorrow?"

"Oh Please, England? _Please_?" America tugged at England some more as he begged. His cute face became all puppy-eyed. England looked away, but he was too late. He didn't have a chance when his brother made that face.

"I suppose I could use the chance to run a few errands…"

"Hooray!" the boy jumped and shouted as he released his pleasure. He ran for the door to England's room with his arms spread out as if he were flying. "Come on! Let's go!" he called to his brother.

"Not so fast!" England called out to America as he dashed out of the room. "I need some time to get ready, first!"

"Ok!" America understood, but he did not slow his stampeding towards the stairs.

England stuck his head out of his room and gave the hasty boy a few instructions.

"I'll be along momentarily! Stay in the house while I change!" England didn't want America getting any ideas about running off on his own.

"Ok!" England heard his brother answer cheerfully from somewhere in the house. As England closed his door, he could hear America bounding back up the stairs. When the sound of his little brother's footsteps whooshed past the outside of England's door, he heard America announce:

"This is way better than a pop-gun!"

England grinned at sounds of his brother's celebration. Normally, England didn't allow America to run in the house, but he could let it go this once. The boy was bursting with happiness and wild energy. He needed to let it out.

England turned back to his room and slumped against his door. The room was a bit disheveled. The sheets on his made bed where out of place from America moving around on it. The contents of his trunk were out of order. America's wet towel was on the floor, and his old shirt was on the far side of the room. England would have to tidy the room before he could think about getting dressed for an outing.

As England made his way to his chest, he caught a glimpse of himself in his mirror. He winced at his unkempt reflection. His clothes were damp and wrinkled. He had removed his wet shoes and stockings after falling into the tub with America, so he was still bare-foot. The back of his shirt was torn from when he had fallen out of the tree, earlier, and his wild head of hair was even more frazzled than it usually was.

England turned away from the mirror and sighed. He was not looking forward to putting himself back together. He was not really looking forward to the trip into town, but he tried to convince himself that it would be the practical venture. He needed to pick out some more materials, so that he could start work on more clothes for America, anyway. He could also try to find an extra outfit that America could wear for play, in the meantime. Maybe a jacket would be good, too.

While England tackled his storage chest, America ran back and forth in the hallway outside of England's room. He was starting to get used to the feel of his new clothes. He felt very grown-up in his new pants that came down just below his knees. The only problem was his shoes. The boy was used to running around barefoot most of the time. Wearing shoes just didn't feel right. He wanted his feet to be free. His pace slowed as he thought about taking off the shoes (just for a _minute_. His imprisoned feet needed air).

But as the boy came to a stop, he noticed something about the shoes that he had not before. He looked down at his shoes and wiggled his feet inside of them. Were his shoes..._squeaking_? He took a few slow, experimental steps. They were! America walked around in a circle and listened to the entertaining sounds. The hallway echoed with the "_squeak_, CLOP, _squeak_, CLOP" of his yet-to-be-broken-in footwear. America discovered that he thoroughly enjoyed the sounds his shoes made when he stomped them. The powerful noises that his hard shoes created when they hit the wood floor made America feel much older and heavier. The boy began to march and stomp his feet as hard as he could.

"Hey, England! Listen!" America called to England's closed door. "My shoes make funny noises!"

Inside the room, England groaned.

"How wonderful," he said in a voice betrayed his true feelings. He obviously thought that the racket was less than wonderful.

America went back to his running, but still tried to stomp his feet as he ran. He smiled broadly as he raced about. The boy was beginning to see the advantages of his new clothes. He could run as fast as he wanted, and he didn't have to worry about his long shirt flying up or getting caught on something. America ran back to the stairs and slid down the banister. Wearing pants made this action so much easier. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he started doing clumsy cartwheels and tumbling. He did a head-stand using a wall for support. Standing upside-down was more fun without his long shirt falling down over his head.

"Hey, England quick! Look what I can do!"

England heard his little brother calling to him. By this time, England was finished with his chest. He had slung the wet towel over his shoulder and was now smoothing out his bed-sheets.

"I don't know what you could be doing," England called back. "But I am certain that you are not standing on your head with your feet against the wall, as you have been clearly instructed _not_ to do in the past." England heard a "BUMP" before America answered.

"I'm not! Never mind!"

In his excitement, America had completely forgotten the rule. England did not like dirty marks on the wall. When he stood up, the boy was relieved to see that his shoes had not left any spots on the clean wall.

Back in his room, England gave a knowing smile in the direction of the sound. He had come to know that boy so well. Once his bed was made, all that was left was America's shirt. England went over to it, picked it up off the floor, and shook it out. He walked back to the bed to fold it.

England paused when he held the shirt up in front of him. He suddenly felt struck by how _small_ the shirt was. When had America gotten so big? It seemed like only yesterday when the boy was so little that his long shirts practically devoured him. England could almost see the happy toddler in the worn shirt, reaching out for England to hold him…. When was the last time America had asked to be held? England suddenly realized that he was going to have to pack away all of America's delicate, little shirts. The boy would not need them anymore. For some reason, thinking about all this made England's stomache hurt and his eyes water. The nation quickly wiped his eyes, cleared his throat, and tried to get control of himself.

"What am I?" he scolded himself. "A pathetic old maid, grieving over an empty nest?" England folded the tiny shirt and tried to think nothing more about it. It would be ridiculous to get upset over this. His brother was just growing out of some old clothes. It was nothing to blink at. If England could not handle this, he shuddered to think about how he would react when his brother went through puberty—but it would be _ages_ before that happened! America was still a small child. There was no reason to go flying off the handle over a new set of clothes.

Suddenly, England heard the door open behind him. When had America come back upstairs? England did not look at the boy. He was afraid his eyes might be red. He spoke quickly and tried to act as if nothing was wrong.

"Before you ask: no, I am not ready yet, and I don't want you coming in here every few seconds to ch—OMPH!" England felt America ram into the back of his legs. The boy's arms wrapped around England's legs and squeezed. England feel forward and caught himself on the bed. "What's all this?"

"Thanks, Arthur!" America said sweetly, as he hugged England with gratitude. "And…I'm sorry that I ran away," the boy added softly. "…and threw dirt on you…and made you fall out of the tree…and spit on your face…and splashed you…and—"

England smiled down at him.

"Apology accepted," he interrupted with a pat on the boy's head. "Don't worry about it." To be honest, a part of England had somewhat enjoyed the adventure that America had put him through that morning. "Now, if you will kindly grant me a few minutes to put myself back together?" England said as he slipped out of the hug and gently pushed America towards the door. "I must hurry if you still want to go into town today."

"Alright!" America hurried out the door, but before England could shut it, the boy returned. "Hey, next time I need a bath, can I take it by myself?"

England was startled! Had he heard his brother correctly?

"I beg your pardon?"

"If I'm big enough to wear breetches, then I'm big enough to wash myself, right?"

England's mouth dropped, and he stuttered a bit before finally replying.

"But-but…I thought you hated baths."

America looked at England like he was crazy.

"Who me? No way!" he bragged. "Only _babies_ are afraid of baths!"

The End

* * *

Historical Author's Note Thing: Back in this time period, little boys usually wore dress-like clothes and shirts until they turned about 5 or so. A boy getting his first pair of pants (or "breeches") was a BIG deal. They called it getting "breeched," and it was like a sign of maturing. Some families even threw parties to celebrate the event.  
I imagined that little America would be very excited about his first pair of pants. Thanks to everyone who read this! I hope you all enjoyed it!


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